The Beginning of the End
by CandiFloss
Summary: "He was close; he was too close. Rose felt her heartbeat quickening and knew that, if she didn't do something - if she didn't do something right now - this situation could evolve into something very dangerous. He smirked. Rose closed her eyes, and let out a shaky breath. Yes, very dangerous indeed." Next Gen, Rose/Scorpius. Read and review! :)
1. Chapter 1

***disclaimer*: **Unfortunately, I don't own anything... :(**  
**

Enjoy, guys!

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******~.~**

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

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Chapter I: The_ Last First Day_

It still smelled like him.

Rose paused, her packing suddenly halted, and dropped the scarf amidst the clutter on her bed as though it had burned her.

How was that even possible? She wasn't an expert in scent, but a summer seemed like a lifetime to her. How was it not long enough to drive away his smell from a bloody scarf?

She stopped, shook her head, and consciously decided to clear her mind of any thoughts relating to him. Of any thoughts relating to his eyes that looked like the wind, or his voice that seemed so smooth but became shaky when she was close…

_No. _She was done. For good.

She was done with Scorpius Malfoy.

The scarf lay discarded among her pillows, along with outdated spellbooks and robes she had outgrown.

* * *

"Aw, sweetheart, look at you! You're all grown up, our little Head Girl." Ron Weasley, his ruddy face beaming, decided that the bother of abandoning his marmalade-slathered toast was worth the joy of hugging his daughter before she left for her final year of school and stood heavily before pulling Rose into a bear hug.

"Dad!" she muttered, but grinned and hugged him back. "I'm not in first year anymore…you've done this seven times!"

Her father shook his head, and, in a wistful tone that foreshadowed a dangerously long reminiscence, began, "No, Rosie…it's the _last time…._this is your seventh year, the year I never got to…."

"Yes, _Ronald_, our daughter is well aware that you were too exhausted from saving the world to make it back to school for your last year!" Hermione, a smile hidden in her exasperated voice, set a heaping plate of pancakes in front of Rose and reminded her, "Unlike your hard-working mother who not only went back for her final year but….."

"Graduated at the top of her class!" chorused Rose and her younger brother, Hugo, who'd just made his appearance at the table. "We know!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows and chuckled. "Well, I hope you pay as much attention to your studies as you seem to pay to my stories, then. Eat up – you can't be late for the train! And Hugo, have you even bothered to brush your hair?"

Hugo, his mane of red frizz (an unmistakable mix of Granger and Weasley) as unruly as ever, groaned and trudged back upstairs.

Rose smirked and stuffed a bite of pancake into her mouth. And then promptly spat it out. Last first day of Hogwarts or not, her mother was still a god-awful cook.

A frantic half-hour later, they were all assembled at Kings Cross, more or less in one piece. Hermione was digging through their suitcases, checking to make sure they didn't forget – "Hugo, _please _tell me you didn't leave your toothbrush!" - and Ron was chatting with their Uncle Harry, who'd just shown up at the station, late as usual.

Rose's cousin, Albus, had appeared at her side amid the chaos, and the two of them were contemplating the scene in front of them in the knowledge that they'd never be witnessing something as crazily beautiful as the first day of Hogwarts ever again.

"This is it, huh?" Albus commented, his green eyes flashing with uncharacteristic emotion.

Rose sighed, and bit her lip. "I guess so." This was a strange feeling to her….over the last seven years, Hogwarts had become so important a part of her that the idea of leaving it was unfathomable – unbearable, almost. Not teasing Albus in the halls over whatever new girl he was mooning after? Not laughing with her friends in the Ravenclaw common room long after they were supposed to be asleep? Not feeling her heart skip a beat whenever she ran into _him…._?

She blinked, and shook her head rapidly. _Stop. _

Yes, the mere thought was…unbearable.

Rose was shaken from her reverie by an enthusiastic greeting from her best friend, Elizabeth Avery.

"Rosie!"

And by enthusiastic greeting, a borderline violent tackle combined with ear-splitting screams can be inferred.

Rose couldn't help but beam, despite barely being able to breathe. "Lizzy! I haven't seen you all summer….how was Paris?"

"_Trés _amazing!" her friend giggled, her bright eyes shining. "I met the greatest bloke…."

Rose rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "Lizzy, you will _never _change!"

Giggling, Elizabeth grabbed her hand and pulled Rose into the train, barely allowing her to spare a wave for her frazzled parents, with a reluctant Albus trudging after them.

The train ride to Hogwarts was a comfortably monotonous blur of _How are you's_ and _How have you been's_ punctuated with the occasional _How was your summer_ and Rose was _just_ settling comfortably back into familiar routines when _he_ stepped into her compartment and nothing else mattered anymore.

He stepped in, and brought with him all the butterflies she thought had flown away last spring, all the heavy silences that were more meaningful than a dozen words, all the discomfort and longing that Rose _didn't want_ in her life any more.

_Damn him. _

"Weasley," he said, his voice a collected drawl, his cool misty eyes unreadable, "meet me in the Head's compartment in two minutes. McGonagall wants us to talk about back-to-school procedures." From where he was standing, half in and half out of the door, Rose could just make out the glint of a Head's badge hidden among the folds of his robes.

She cleared her throat. She cleared her mind. She forced herself to say, "Thank you, Malfoy; I'll be there," and she forced herself to ignore the tremor in her voice when she said it.

_Damn him. _

* * *

**_A/N: _**I know it was short, but there's a lot more to come!

Kisses,

- CandiFloss


	2. Chapter 2

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**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**~.~**

Chapter II: _And the walls kept tumbling down..._

He was sitting on the tattered seats of the compartment, thumbing through an old copy of the Head's rulebook.

He looked…well, he looked….

Peaceful.

Rose hadn't expected that word to jump to her mind, and was surprised when it did. Peaceful? But it was true. His platinum, almost white, locks were bathed golden in the light of the mid-afternoon sun, and the corners of his lips were turned upwards in what would look like, to one unfamiliar with Scorpius, a smile. Unlike last year, when issues with his father had come to a head and he had been so on edge about everything that he'd forgotten, for one heart-stopping moment still captured in the fibers of a woolen Ravenclaw scarf, that he hated her.

"Staring _again_, Weasley?" The characteristic smirk caught Rose off-guard and she jumped a little before collecting what was left of her dignity and sitting opposite him.

"Not at all," she retorted primly, "Just committing to memory a very unusual sight: Malfoy holding a book _right side up_ for once."

The shadow of a flush spread across Scorpius' pale cheeks. "Okay, Weasley, that was _one_ time and it was in _History of Magic_…"

Rose let out a breath of relief that she didn't even know she'd been holding. They'd reverted to their old, teasingly hateful banter; there was none of the awkwardness or tension that she'd been anticipating. None on his side, anyway. Obviously, what happened that night had been an aberration, an anomaly chalked up to fatigue and circumstance that could soon be forgotten.

Rose told herself that she was relieved that it'd meant nothing to him. She told herself so persuasively that she almost convinced herself. Almost.

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she demurred, and looked down to the scrap of parchment she'd scribbled notes on. "So I divided the house Prefects – this list should cover settling in the first-years tonight, and patrols for the next week."

He snatched the paper out of her hand and rolled his eyes. "I've already sent McGonagall a schedule for patrols for the first term, so we won't be needing this. Didn't you get my owl over the summer?"

"I – what? No, I didn't," Rose said, flustered. "So then why did you call this meeting?"

He stood up, turned to leave, and he was suddenly too big, his pressed black robes seeming to fill every cranny of the compartment. "Ask McGonagall. It would seem like we're done h – "

Before he could finish, Rose had risen and grabbed his wrist. He turned, startled, his eyes widening for a brief second before he composed himself.

Their faces were too close together. Rose could feel him, rather than hear him, breathing. It didn't help that she was still grasping the material of his cloak, either.

"Malfoy, like it or not, we are doing this together," she hissed, flustered both by their proximity and his easy dismissal of her proposal. "You _don't_ get to do whatever you feel like just because you can – those days are over. Get used to it."

He pried her hand off his wrist and cast a cool eye over her. "Easy, Weasley," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned closer, like he was about to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it and strode out, leaving Rose alone in the compartment with a spinning head and an erratic heartbeat.

* * *

The feast, the Sorting, and the rest of the traditional first-day-back activities had passed in a whirlwind of chaos and adrenaline, and Rose was finally, _finally_ alone. She had waited until McGonagall had given her the okay to leave the Great Hall, long after the first-years had been assigned their dormitories, long after clean-up, long after even the house elves had drifted off to sleep. She'd drafted a plan with the professor and Scorpius, outlining the rest of the year in the smoothest manner possible, and at long last she could retire to her room.

Despite her exhaustion, Rose couldn't help but feel an oncoming wave of anticipation as she whispered the password, "_Aut viam inveniam aut faciam_,"***** to the portrait of the young couple that guarded the Heads' chambers. She'd heard rumors about these rooms, stories of a bathroom with solid gold faucets and beds with towering mattresses and canopies…

She was not disappointed. The space was beautiful, every inch justifying the outrageous descriptions. The floor was layered with plush red carpets, and rolls of drapery ornamented the heavy stained glass windows that adorned the walls. Even the polished mahogany of the tables was carved with intricate designs that spoke of an elegance Rose had never seen before in her life. She finally flopped onto the bed-cushions in the girl's room, drained after the long day she'd had. _This was the life._

Before she knew it, she'd drifted off to sleep, cocooned in satin sheets and still fully dressed.

* * *

"Weasley!"

Groaning, Rose turned over in bed and gripped her covers a little tighter. "Ten more minutes…"

A pillow zoomed at her and hit her smack-dab in the face. "_Get up_. It's the first day of classes – are you always like this? Because that would be a problem."

She sat up suddenly when the voice registered: Malfoy, Hogwarts…what? Right, summer was over. And the git was leaning against her doorframe, showered and dressed with not an irritating platinum hair out of place.

"Malfoy, what the hell?" she cried, pulling the duvet up to her neck. "Get out of my room!"

He quirked an eyebrow, before saying condescendingly, "Trust me, there's no enjoyment on my side, either. Are you sure that the thing on your head is, in fact, hair and not some obscure magical creature Professor Oakwood would be interested in studying?"

Rose could feel a furious blush spreading like wildfire across her face and, trying to spare herself any further humiliation, tossed the pillow back at him and muttered a quick spell to slam the door in his face.

"And stay out!" she yelled to the faint chuckles she heard behind the door.

She was already late, so she ran into the bathroom for a quick shower and pulled on her robes before making it down to the Great Hall just in time to see everyone finish breakfast. Disgruntled – she'd secretly harbored the fantasy of making a dramatic entrance on the first day of school and watching all the first years stare in awe and whisper to each other, "That's Rose Weasley, the Head Girl. Isn't she amazing?" – she began to trudge to Herbology, her first class of the day. Lizzy fell in step beside her and said consolingly, "I saved you some toast – here."

Rose took the grease-covered tissue and smiled at her friend. "Ugh….seventh year so far? Not exactly as I imagined it."

Lizzy's smile was as bright as ever, and just being with her made Rose forget – to a certain degree – her earlier mortification. But not quite.

It was just …. him. He managed to get under her skin like no one else could. Why couldn't she get him out of her head? Why did she still feel a flutter every time his eyes met hers?

Why couldn't she get that night last spring out of her head?

_Ugh_. And now she was stuck working with the bastard, effectively ruining what was supposed to be the best year of her life.

_Fan–bloody–tastic._

* * *

Scorpius was sitting at his usual spot in the Great Hall - right side of the Ravenclaw table, fourth seat from the left. His usual breakfast was in front of him – scrambled eggs, a side of toast and two strips of bacon. His usual friends were around him, gabbing endlessly about classes and professors and who fancied who.

And yet Scorpius was not his usual self.

Actually, scratch that – he'd been this way for months now. Maybe this was his new "usual". This moping, mooning, hopelessly-in-he-wasn't-ready-to-say-the-word-yet shadow of his former self. Ever since a cold spring night half a year ago when…

_Fucking Rose Weasley._

This was her - this wasn't him! She was making him this way; she'd wriggled her way into his head somehow and she wasn't coming out. This…this was madness. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

Hell, he wasn't a prude. He'd been with girls before; he'd even garnered a reputation as somewhat of a ladies-man. But what he was feeling right now wasn't lust. Or rather, it wasn't _just_ lust.

It must be some sort of spell, some enchantment she'd cast over him. This lunacy couldn't be natural. The way his throat dried up whenever her warm eyes twinkled at him, the way his palms sweat whenever he heard her full laugh.

The way his breath caught in his throat whenever she touched him.

That moment in the train…he'd thought he could handle working with her, he'd thought he could be professional and keep his recent psychosis under control. But it was too much. _She_ was too much. And when he couldn't take it anymore, when he had to get out…

She'd grabbed his wrist, and he could have sworn there was bloody _electricity_ coursing between them, the kind he'd only heard of in soppy dramas his mother was addicted to.

_What the hell was going on? _

Scorpius exhaled slowly and took a long swig of his pumpkin juice. It was going to be a rough year.

* * *

*_Aut viam inveniam aut faciam_: "I will either find a way or make one." _  
_

**A/N: **This chapter title comes from a lyric in a song called Pompeii by Bastille. If you don't know them, check them out - they're an amazing band!

As always, leave a review!

Kisses,

- CandiFloss


	3. Chapter 3

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**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

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Chapter III: _Maybe_

The bright glare of the morning sun was seeping into her room through a crack in her curtains. Her alarm had gone off no less than five times, and each time she'd smashed the snooze button so violently that her fingers were beginning to redden. The broken staccato of a half-heard bird-song filtered through her window, but still she slept.

Her exhaustion was getting to her; between Head Girl duties, classes, and worrying about her NEWTs, Rose felt like she never got a moment to herself. Somewhere in her subconscious, the sanctuary of sleep provided the break she needed from the real world.. However, even in slumber, Rose's ever-present rational mind tickled against her conscience. _Wake up_, it seemed to whisper. _Sleeping more will just get make later to Herbology, which will get you have a mountain of make-up work, in addition to the two feet of parchment you have for Astronomy tonight…_This nagging part of her brain was a persistent little bugger. No matter how many times she squeezed her eyes close shut with a vengeance or forced herself to tune out the damn logical voice, it just wouldn't leave her alone.

Groaning, she peeled herself from the alluring call of her duvet and wiped the crust from her eyelashes. A glance in the mirror above her desk confirmed that she looked just as terrible as she felt. Her hair, which had never been shampoo-commercial worthy to begin with, was now piled around her head in a manner reminiscent of Medusa, the tangled knots framing her face like a lion's mane. The hollows beneath her eyes were dark with the evidence of fitful sleep, and she'd fallen back into her old stress habit of biting her lip as she slept; the bruises were raw and tender.

The chirping of the birds rang in her still-fuzzy mind caused her to grimace. What were they so bloody cheerful about?

Sighing, she stood and reluctantly trudged to the bathroom. It was going to be an awful day.

* * *

Scorpius stared at groggily his foggy reflection in the mirror that was still misted with steam from his shower. He had faint purple half-moons under his eyes, and his eyelids drooped with exhaustion. This year was hell. So far – and it had only been a month – his classes were more rigorous than they'd ever been, and the scholarship he'd had his eye on at St. Mungo's University seemed farther away than ever. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed hoarsely.

He dragged himself away from the mirror, dressed, and chewed his way listlessly through a plate of toast that may as well have been cardboard for all he tasted it. All this before Weasley deigned to open her eyes. Scowling, he contemplated waking her up – it was only half an hour until classes began – but then remembered the first day of school, when he unwittingly subjected himself to her wide, drowsy eyes and cheeks rosy with sleep. He sure as hell wasn't doing that again.

As much as Rose irritated him – and yes, that's what he was calling it; he wasn't sure he could handle anything other explanation – he had to admit, half-heartedly, of course, that he had a sort of begrudging admiration for her. She seemed to effortlessly earn top marks, despite sleeping until two minutes before classes started and gabbing with her friends until late in the night. In addition, she was an excellent counterpart to him as Head Girl; in professional matters, they'd worked well together. So far, he couldn't find any fault in her work ethic, and she was definitely on top of things when it came to her duties.

Of course, he wasn't about to tell her any of this.

At the precise moment Scorpius was pondering his newfound respect for her, Rose decided to make her grand appearance. Disheveled as always – water was dripping from her damp tendrils of hair and her wrinkled robes were thrown on carelessly – she nevertheless succeeded in making him catch his breath for a brief moment before he gathered his wits and came to his senses.

Clearing his throat, he muttered, "Morning, Weasley." Cordially, of course. He was never anything but.

She seemed startled for a second and jumped a little at his voice. "Hey. No Great Hall today?"

He shook his head. "Don't feel up to it."

Rose nodded emphatically. "Me either. This year…"

"…has been hell, right?" Scorpius finished. He stood up, roughly. If he didn't feel up to eating with his friends in the Hall, he definitely didn't feel up to making small talk with the girl that morphed him into an empty-headed idiot. "I know. I'm going to be late for History of Magic, so…"

She looked down into the cup of orange juice she'd just poured, suddenly extremely interested in its contents. "Scorpius," she said in a small voice. "Why are you doing this?"

He frowned. "What?"

"This." She poured the cup in the sink and moved over next to him. She had to tip her face up to meet his eyes; she'd never really noticed how tall he'd become. "Acting like everything is all right. Pretending that what …what happened last year never happened."

"Weasley," he hissed, narrowing his eyes. She noticed bags and realized that he was also as fatigued as she was. "It meant nothing, okay? _Nothing._ Just…forget it ever happened."

And with that, he whirled around and stormed out of the room, his robes billowing angrily behind him.

The only indication that he'd ever been there was the orange juice trickling down the drain and the quivering tear caught between her eyelashes.

* * *

Rose was in Ancient Runes. She was decoding an archaic text, a relic from a Mayan wizard's spellbook. It was an important task, and she was completely focused on it.

_Completely_ focused on it.

Okay, fine, maybe she was a little distracted. Or a lot.

But she forced herself to concentrate on the symbols at hand, and attempted to restrain her wandering mind. So what if last spring meant nothing to Scorpius? She certainly hadn't expected it to. And it hadn't meant anything to her, either. It hadn't.

Had it?

She clenched her teeth together and dipped her quill in ink, preparing to write an essay on symbols that she hadn't even begun to translate.

He did this to her.

Every glare, every scowl, every smirk….everything he did affected her in a way she wasn't ready to admit. She didn't know what was wrong with her. This had never happened before, and she didn't like to think about the reason it was happening now.

She shouldn't care that _it_, that night, the night that had meant everything to her, the night that had turned her world upside down ... had meant nothing to him. But maybe, possibly, some secret part of her wanted to believe that she affected him the way she affected her.

Maybe.

But probably not.

* * *

Spring of Sixth Year: That Night.._.._

_It began raining. _

_ Perfect timing. _

_ They were outside, on the terrace of the Ravenclaw common room, a telescope pointed at the inky black sky. They were supposed to be working on an Astronomy project – it wasn't due for another week, but Scorpius hated to procrastinate; however, the oncoming clouds looming on the horizon, heavy with rain, made it impossible for them to finish. _

_ And of course, they were locked out of the common room, since they were supposed to be out all night documenting the stars. _

_Which they couldn't do._

_ Because it was fucking raining. _

_ Rose cursed softly, her oath resonating in the velvety silence that engulfed them, and huddled into the only corner of the balcony that was covered. "Wonderful. What the hell are we supposed to do now?" _

_ He sat down next to her, tucking in his long legs to get them out of the rain; he was too lanky for the small space they shared uncomfortably. "Nothing. We wait." _

_ Minutes passed by in awkward silence. Both of them were acutely aware of the others proximity, but unable to do anything about it; in all honesty, Rose wasn't sure she wanted to do anything about it; his warmth was comforting, safe... _

_She shook her head and blinked rapidly as soon as the thought popped into her mind unbidden – where had that come from? _

_ Her robe was drenched at the bottom and the wet fabric plastered to her, making her shiver. He noticed her shaking, and asked if she was cold. _

_ "No," Rose replied, but since her teeth were chattering as she said it, she wasn't too sure she convinced him. _

_ Wordlessly, Scorpius untwined the scarf wrapped around his neck and attempted to give it to her. When she declined, he turned, faced her, and, almost tenderly, wrapped it around her shoulders. _

_ His fingers were rough against her throat; their touch made her shiver out of something besides cold. His breath was warm upon her cheeks and her heart was racing; what was he doing to her? _

_ As he finished twisting the scarf around her, she slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "Thank you," she managed to whisper, even though she felt like his presence was squeezing all the breath out of her lungs. _

_ He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering. In that moment, his eyes were blue, they were grey, they were love, they were hate, they were him, they were her, and she didn't know if she could stand it a second longer. _

_She looked down, unable to meet his heated gaze any longer; somehow, his smoldering, icy eyes were melting her into a quivering pool of idiocy, burning her so her chest had physically started aching, searing her until her whole body felt like a mass of incandescent flames. _

_She had do to something...anything...to shake this feeling, to ignore what he was doing to her. Abashedly, she cleared her throat and began, "So, this project..."_

_ "Weasley," he said, in a low voice filled with an emotion she couldn't identify and wasn't sure she wanted to, cupping her chin gently and tilting her head so her reluctant amber eyes met with his flashing quicksilver ones, "shut up." _

_ And then he kissed her. _

* * *

Please review!

Love,

- CandiFloss


	4. Chapter 4

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**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**~.~**

Chapter IV: _Glow_

Historically, the Triwizard Tournament had been conducted at Hogwarts every four years; however, for the past few decades, the tournament itself had been cancelled, out of respect to Cedric Diggory's memory.

The accompanying Yule Ball, on the other hand, was deemed harmless.

And the responsibility of planning it fell to the Heads.

"Mr. Malfoy. _Mr. Malfoy. _Are you listening to me?"

The grating voice of the old bat in front of him jolted Scorpius out of his reverie, and he just barely managed to twist his scowl into a passable, if forced, smile. "Of course, Professor McGonagall. You were saying?"

She frowned at him, her mouth pursing. He had to admire her tenacity; despite possibly being more ancient than Hogwarts itself, the witch hadn't let age catch up with her. Her green eyes still glinted, her voice never shook, and not a stray lock escaped from her tightly coiled gray bun.

McGonagall sighed, and replied, in a carefully measured tone, "It's already halfway through October. I trust you and Miss Weasley have begun the preliminary planning of the Ball?"

Beside him, Rose piped up in her infuriatingly together voice, "Of course, Professor. I've started on some basic sketches for decorations" – with this, she pulled out what must have been a ten-foot long scroll of parchment_. _Scorpius snorted. Basic sketches his arse. – "and I think I've an idea of the music, as well. The menu shouldn't be a problem; I'll ask the house elves for a few specialties and then Scorpius and I can decide on the most appropriate dishes."

The professor nodded approvingly after skimming the plans. "Thank you, Rose. Remember, this is the first official event you two are organizing as Heads. Don't disappoint me."

Rose beamed from her mentor's praise. Eagerly bobbing her head up and down – like a damn _puppet_, thought Scorpius scornfully – she asked earnestly, "Is there anything else I can do, Professor?"

"Not at the present time, Miss Weasley. You are dismissed."

When she left, a flurry of red ringlets and floral perfume, McGonagall turned her hawk like gaze towards him. "If you don't mind, Mr. Malfoy, I do want to discuss something with you."

Scorpius shifted in his languid pose and prepared himself for a long-winded lecture about the neglect of his duties. He deserved it, of course – the Yule Ball had all but slipped his mind – but he was already inexplicably irritated (Weasley had that effect on him) and in no mood to listen to the witch harangue for ages on end.

He was surprised, then, when McGonagall abruptly changed the subject and said, "NEWTs are fast approaching, Mr. Malfoy. Before you know it, you'll have to decide on a career path. You've already told me that you're planning on a business apprenticeship before you take over the reins of your fathers company, and I understand your desire to stick to your plan. However, as your teacher, I've noticed that your passion doesn't seem to lie in the business world. To be blunt, Mr. Malfoy ... if you're planning on applying for the St. Mungo's scholarship, I need a written essay from you within the next two months – you are aware of the requirements, I'm sure."

Scorpius felt his stomach drop, and he stared at his professor with wide eyes. "How did you know that…?"

"Call it a teacher's instinct," McGonagall said, waving away his question. "Obviously, there's some problem here. What is it?"

He groaned, and settled back in the wooden panes of his chair. "My father," he ground out, his voice low. "He wants me to carry on the business. He demands it, actually."

She nodded, knowingly. "Have you talked to him about this?"

"I tried. I don't think he wants to hear it, though."

McGonagall set down her horn-rimmed spectacles and rubbed her temples. "I understand how difficult your father can be, Scorpius. But I also know that he's an intelligent man who cares about your happiness."

Scorpius cast his eyes downward in an effort to keep the disbelief from his face. Did this woman even know his father? "Thanks, Professor, but …. I'll deal with this on my own."

He was almost out the door when she called out, "If you ever need help, Mr. Malfoy, you know where to find me."

And for some absurd reason, this helped.

* * *

Outside, the bitter breeze thrashed about him unforgivingly, the cold seeming to seep through his pores and freeze his blood. He could see his own breath suspended in the frigid air as smoky coils of white.

Obviously, not ideal weather for Quidditch.

But there was a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game coming up, and just because he wasn't a Slytherin didn't mean that he hadn't inherited his father's desire to crush that smug-faced Potter bastard. The younger one, that is. And he wasn't about to let a little chill stop him from practicing. Besides, Quidditch was often exactly what he needed to get his mind off something. And today, with McGonagall's advice seared into his brain, the roads of his future had never seemed so cloudy. If he could put all that behind him, even for an hour, on the pitch, it would be worth the trouble of the weather.

The fields were all but deserted; through a mist of fog, he could make out Hagrid's burly outline tending to something on the outskirts of the grounds, but there wasn't a student in sight. All the better for him.

Carefully sidestepping icy patches on the pavement, he pried open the knob of the Quidditch warehouse and retrieved his broom. He released the Bludger into the darkening sky before he mounted the broom and chased after it, bat in hand.

Scorpius, unlike most Beaters, was tall and lanky. Although otherwise naturally suited to the position – he had an intensity that allowed him to maneuver the ball easily – this physical anomaly made it harder for him to control the ball on extremely windy days, like today.

A lack of control which rendered, sadly, rather unfortunate consequences.

After flying for a good hour and a half, the sky had turned a shade of inky blue, and Scorpius had lost the Bludger to the veil of mist that stretched over it. That was never good because sometimes –

_Damnit. _

- it could catch you off your guard.

The ball had crashed into his shoulder, bruising his forearm to the point where he could feel the warm stickiness of his own blood mingling painfully with the glacial wind.

Stifling a cry of anguish, Scorpius forced himself to clear his head and, after catching the damn thing with his good arm, landed clumsily on the grass, clutching at his shoulder in pain.

_Okay, breathe. Think. _Swallowing heavily, he bolted up the warehouse and began an agonizing trudge towards the castle. He couldn't go to the Hospital Wing, since Quidditch practice was forbidden on treacherous days such as this one – a rule that he shouldn't have bent, he now understood. His only option was to hope he could find a spell that would relieve the ache for now, then visit the Wing in the morning.

After curfew, the winding halls of the building were empty, with the only light coming from the flickering golden glow of half-melted candles in the chandeliers above. Fortunately, in the dim gleam, no one spared him or his mangled excuse for a shoulder a second glance, the one teacher passing him deigning only to give him a quick grunt of acknowledgement before hurrying into a potions cabinet.

Finally, he made it to the Heads chamber, muttered the password, and pushed open the door.

Only to find Weasley there, her back turned to him, clipboard in hand, looking ready to talk decorations.

_Bloody hell, not now. She can't see me like this. _

He knew it wasn't rational, but for some reason, he couldn't bear the thought of Rose seeing him as he was now. Pathetic, defeated. What would she think of him? Ever since their confrontation – or really, his yelling idiotic nothings at her in some twisted attempt to quell feelings he couldn't understand – she'd been avoiding him, plastering on a mask of normalcy whenever their paths had to cross. She probably already thought the worst of him, that he was a coward who couldn't face the truth; he couldn't let her see him as a loser, too.

His mind reeling, he attempted to skulk into his dorm unnoticed.

But then she stood up.

* * *

_Finally, _thought Rose. Ever since McGonagall had sprung the subject of the Yule Ball on them, she'd been frantically drawing up plans in their rooms, waiting for him to come back. This was the biggest event Hogwarts had seen in four years; whatever was going on between them had to be buried, at least until the ball was over.

He'd been gone for ages – the blue of the horizon had melted into a black as dark as the pitch in the night. She had started to wonder what happened, but forced herself to calm down. It was none of her business which girl he chose to parade around with this week; as long as he could show up and execute his Head obligations, his personal life meant nothing to her. _It didn't. _

She couldn't deny, though, her heart jumped when she heard heavy footsteps outside their hallway. So he wasn't with a girl, after all.

Not that she cared.

"Malfoy," she said, standing and swiveling around to face him. "We need to discuss…" Her words died in her mouth.

Scorpius was standing in front of her, blood seeping through his black Quidditch robes.

"Scorpius," she breathed, taking an instinctive step closer to him before his hard look reminded her that she had no right to. "What happened?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes; instead, he swallowed and bit out a curt, "Nothing. I'm fine," before turning to leave.

She almost let him. But then she noticed that his knuckles were white from pain and in that moment she didn't care what he thought of her, she just knew that she couldn't bear to see him suffer without doing anything about it.

She caught his wrist, and, ignoring his wide-eyed stare of objection, emphasized, "Malfoy. _What. Happened."_

Scorpius let out a shaky breath and raked a hand through his hair roughly. "I was practicing…"

"In this weather?" snorted Rose. "Brilliant, as always. A Bludger, right?"

He nodded silently. Still not meeting her eyes.

"You idiot. Sit down," she said, boldly conjuring a chair closer and pushing down on his good shoulder.

"Weasley, what the hell!" Scorpius protested, futilely attempting to stand. "I don't need your babying."

She cocked an eyebrow at him and retorted, "I think you do. I'm pretty sure the grounds are closed, right? I'd hate to see what'd happen if I told the Hospital Wing about your injury."

Scorpius rolled his eyes and scoffed disbelievingly, fully aware that he'd most likely be stripped of his Head badge if anyone found out he'd broken the rules, which she took as reluctant compliance.

After fetching a spellbook and some healing supplies, she drew up a stool next to him and took off the black cape around his shoulders.

The laceration was on his shoulder, and she abashedly requested him to take off his shirt in a barely audible voice, refusing to meet his piercing gaze.

Wordlessly, his eyes never straying from her lowered lashes, he complied and Rose, steadfastly keeping her gaze confined to the bare skin of his shoulder, ignored his heated look and her own burning flush to attend to the bruise.

Underneath, his wound was deep and sticky with blood. It made her stomach turn, but she made an effort not to show it. Whispering a quick healing spell, she started to dab at the injury with warm water, uncomfortable with the way he fixed his fiery stare on her face.

Neither of them spoke. She didn't think she could find words even if she tried. Somehow, the situation had morphed from an innocuous effort to talk about decorations to…well…this.

Somewhere between the blood and the mess, Rose knew she had seized this opportunity as an excuse to be with him. To be near him.

They could never be normal, she understood that now. There was too much between them - too much history, too much feeling, too much confusion. This was the only way. Stolen glances, furtive moments, intimacy masked as innocence.

He was beautiful, she realized, almost unwillingly. His blond hair was tousled, wind-blown, falling into his stormy eyes. Even disheveled and weary, he was too beautiful for the wild thoughts that were coursing through her head.

Her heart was beating. So fast. She could hear it thudding in her ears, in her throat, in her wrists.

How did he do this to her? With one look, with one word, he transformed her into an insipid idiot incapable of forming a coherent sentence. If she didn't know better, she'd assume he'd cast some sort of enchantment over her; what else could explain how she lost all rational thought every time she was close to him?

Clearing her throat, she began softly, "I think you'll be fine. The wound's healing. I'm just going to get some gauze…"

She had turned to leave, relieved to be away from him, away from his icy eyes that somehow melted her, away from his deep voice that rendered her breathless, away from….

When he grabbed her and spun her around to face him. They were both standing, both scared to breathe, both acutely, intensely, painfully aware of their stifling proximity... and both afraid to do anything about it.

Their ragged breathing seemed to resonate in the silence.

"Your arm," Rose murmured finally, beginning to twist out of his grip, expecting him to relinquish it easily. "You'll hurt it…"

Instead, he tightened his hold on her and stepped even closer. "Damn my arm."

And then they were kissing, and it felt like this had been what was missing; this was what she had been looking for all her life, this was what she'd struggled against, fought against, and now that she'd finally given in, she couldn't even remember what she was defying.

In that one moment, time stood still.

In that one moment, they forgot that he was Scorpius Malfoy, that she was Rose Weasley, and that their lips were never supposed to meet.

In that one broken moment torn between desire and practicality, they forgot that they could never be.

But time rumbles on, heedless of stolen moments or clandestine kisses. Lost rationality returns.

Rose, struck with the sudden realization that this wasn't right, tore away, gasping, breathing shakily. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tears pricking her lashes. "I can't do this."

And this time it was he who was left alone.

With a spinning head.

And an erratic heartbeat.

* * *

**A/N**: Hope you liked it! As always, read and review. Guys, I love that this story is getting follows and favorites, but remember that feedback keeps a writer writing. So please, if you care about this story enough to follow or favorite, try and drop a review. Did you love it, did you hate it, do you have any suggestions?  
And a huge THANK YOU to those of you who have reviewed so far!

I love you guys!

- CandiFloss


	5. Chapter 5

**~.~**

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**~.~**

Chapter V:_ Friends  
_

Rose felt fizzy, like bubbles frothing over the side of those Muggle soda cans that her mother was so fond of. Like everything inside her had reached a boiling point and was ready to explode through her chest.

Shit. _Shit. _

What the hell had she done?

No, what the hell had _they_ done?

Last year was bad enough, but again? Really, Rose? Scorpius Malfoy was just so irresistible that she couldn't help basically molesting him not once, but _twice_?

She groaned noisily, burying her head in the pillow in front of her and allowing her hair to form a screen between her and the outside world. _Stop thinking. _

Next to her, she head a book snap close. Loudly.

"Okay, Rose, spill."

Reluctantly, she looked up and narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "What are you talking about?"

Lizzy raised an eyebrow at her and stated slowly, as if speaking to a slightly obtuse child, "That's the third time you've sighed in the past hour. Plus, you called me here to study but you haven't even glanced at your textbook."

Rose turned away and grabbed the _History of Magic _text lying next to her. "There's nothing to tell. I've already read the portion for tonight, that's all." That, at least, wasn't a lie.

Lizzy couldn't mask her disbelief. "Rose, I've known you for seven years. I know when something's up."

Exhaling slowly, Rose set aside the pillow and crossed her legs on the bed. She shared everything with Lizzy; they were more like sisters than friends. She'd told her when she had her first crush – Michael Brandon, in second year – and the first time she'd held hands with a boy – also Michael Brandon, second year. But for some reason, there was something about her moments with Scorpius that she couldn't divulge. Something precious, something that would wither the instant it was revealed.

She couldn't tell Lizzy about the way he made her pulse throb, her head spin, her knees weak.

She couldn't tell him about the way her heart ached with pain when she closed her eyes and remembered the metallic tang of blood in the air.

She couldn't tell him that, whenever she closed her eyes, she could still feel the gentle pressure of his lips on hers.

Besides, it was clear it would never happen again; in Scorpius's own words, it had meant "nothing".

"Honestly, Liz," Rose said, plastering on a smile, "I'm just tired. In fact" – she glanced at the clock and faked a yawn – "it's pretty late. We should probably stop."

Lizzy sighed and picked up her bag. "Listen, Rose, I don't know what's going on but I'm always here for you if you need me."

"I know," Rose murmured softly, "thanks, Liz."

When her friend's retreating figure was out of sight, she grabbed the pillow again and muffled a raw scream in its forgiving creases.

* * *

Scorpius rubbed his hands together and wrapped his scarf around his neck a little tighter. The cold had frosted the castle an ethereal white, and the lake was crystallized into a smooth, glassy surface.

But he couldn't find any beauty in any of it.

To him, the only thing the winter seemed to do was strangle the life out of the earth.

Out of the shriveled flowers, withered with the memory of their once-bright hues, lining the amber hedges of the school.

Out of the dry, wilted leaves plucked mercilessly from decayed branches by a heartless zephyr, falling disjointedly onto the sleeted ground.

Out of him.

What had happened to him? A few years ago, he felt he had it all together. He was the apple of his parents' eyes, set to inherit the business his father had painstakingly built up after the war, restoring not only their family wealth, but also the Malfoy name. He was ready to marry the girl deemed to be right for him, Heather Parkinson, and he was prepared to step into the life designed for him from the moment of his birth.

And now…

He felt like a different person. Or maybe the same person, the person he was always meant to be but hadn't been able to become.

The strangest part was that he had no idea how this had happened. He couldn't pinpoint the time everything had changed for him, only that his first fight with his father had been last year, over his Christmas holiday. And that had been brought about by…

Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle fell together. Scorpius closed his eyes, feeling velvety darkness ensnare him, and ground his teeth.

He should have known.

_Fucking Rose Weasley. _

He allowed the memory to wash over him…

_"Weasley, where's the tracking compass?" _

_Rose looked up, parchment in hand. They were in the library, researching for the project they were reluctant partners in. "For this project? Malfoy, it's not due for until after the holidays. We're just supposed to analyze constellation backgrounds right now. Why do you need it?" _

_Scorpius looked at her sheepishly, and admitted – albeit in a terse tone infused with steel – "If it's anything to you, Weasley, I've never tracked before, and I wanted to practice beforehand." _

"_Never?" Rose snapped her head up, amused surprise evident in her eyes. 'We were supposed to try tracking over the summer, remember? It was a NEWT requirement!" _

_He narrowed his eyes to bright slivers, refusing to meet her gaze. "My father doesn't even know I'm taking Astronomy as a NEWT. He doesn't approve; according to him, it's a woolly subject." _

"_He doesn't…approve?" Rose scoffed disbelievingly. "So you don't practice a requirement for a NEWT class because your dad doesn't approve?" After minutes ticked by in stormy silence, she ventured, "Wait…you're serious?" _

"_Yes, Weasley," he hissed, slamming the books on the table in frustration. "Not everyone has parents like yours – naïve morons who believe their daughter can do no wrong. If my father doesn't approve of something, I don't do it in his house. That's all." _

_Rose bit her lip, not missing that he referred to Malfoy Manor as "his father's house" rather than "home". "But don't your interests matter?" _

_Scorpius laughed, hollowly, without humor. "As long as they line up with his, they do." At her dumbstruck look, "Calm down, Weasley. Just because your parents don't care what you do…"_

_She pulled up a chair next to him. Sitting lightly, she rebutted, "Not at all." She grinned at his puzzled expression and, eyes twinkling, pulled her mass of red curls over her shoulder, revealing a second piercing glittering in the corner of her earlobe. _

_He gaped openly, his silver eyes clouded with incredulity. Recovering, he commented wryly, "Well, Weasley, I didn't think you had it in you." _

_The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. "Dad grounded me for two weeks over this and Mum didn't speak to me for ages." _

_Scorpius knit his eyebrows together with confusion. "I've seen you with your parents since then. At Kings Cross. You all seemed…happy." _

"_Right!" she exclaimed emphatically, looking him straight in the eye. "Getting this was reckless and they thought it was a mistake. But it was my mistake to make, and ultimately, it's my life. Eventually, they got used to it. My mother almost likes it now, even though she'll never admit it." _

_He met her warm brown gaze with his steady cool one. "And the point to this story…'_

"_Malfoy, you're willfully thick!" Rose said, exasperated. "Your parents love you, not your choices. Even if they disapprove, they'll adapt. It might be a little hard at first – and I'm not pretending my earring is analogous to your situation – but eventually, they'll come around. And you'll be glad you chose to be happy."_

_Scorpius looked away, uncomfortable by her earnestness. Clearing his throat, he attempted a scornful tone and sneered, "Of course, Weasley, your advice has been invaluable. How much do I owe you for this outstanding therapy session?" _

_She scoffed, standing. "Listen or don't listen, Malfoy. I guess that's your choice, too." _

_Scorpius rolled his eyes, and got up heavily to look for the tracking compass that she'd apparently lost. And willed himself to forget whatever she had said that night. _

But some part of his mind had kept going back to their talk, which seemed to be burned into his brain. Subconsciously, he seemed to have absorbed her message and allowed those sentiments to fester within him, culminating in his confrontation with his father.

It was all her fault.

_Every-fucking-thing_ that had gone wrong with him this year was her fault.

Scorpius stopped in his tracks, and just _breathed _for a few moments, allowing the arctic air to kiss his exposed skin, clearing his head.

This couldn't go on.

This whole conflict – it all boiled down to Weasley and her crap advice, which he, idiotically, followed out of some ridiculous, futile attraction to her.

He was not about to jeopardize his whole future based on a few wayside comments by a girl that messed with his mind more than she helped it.

Stoically, he set his expression, tightening his mouth into a line. This revelation showed that his inner turmoil was an aberration, brought on by hormones, by lust, by Rose. Somehow, that information made all the difference.

He dragged in a long, shaky breath, rubbing his chin contemplatively. In that moment, everything was clear to him.

He knew what he was going to do.

He was going to go back to his dorm, talk to his father, straighten out this mess that his primitive yearning for Weasley had gotten him into. He was going to graduate from Hogwarts top of his class, he was going to inherit the business, he was going to marry Heather, and he was going to live his life as a responsible adult.

Because he was a Malfoy, born and bred, and that's what Malfoys did.

And nothing – or more precisely, no _one _– was going to stand in his way.

* * *

"_In 1813, Garisa Gremhorn discovered the first generic cure for the affliction we now know as Dragonpox..."_

_Damn. _Rose grimaced and rubbed her eyes blearily. She'd already read that sentence twice.

She smothered a yawn behind the back of her hand, willing herself to finish the passage. She couldn't afford to have her distracted mind affect her studies.

Her internal debate came to an abrupt halt when she heard hefty footsteps on the landing. Unwillingly, her palms clenched.

Following …well…the _incident, _Rose had been studiously avoiding any place that she could run into Scorpius, which was difficult, since they lived together. The library, the common room, the fields. She was only in the Head's common room today because she'd assumed he would be at Quidditch practice.

But she'd miscalculated, his injury slipping her mind, and now she was paying the price.

Her heartbeat thudding in her ears, Rose steeled herself for the inevitable imminent confrontation.

She was surprised, then, when Scorpius came in, glanced in her direction and continued to wordlessly remove his scarf and coat. His face was blank, unreadable; the only hint of emotion about him was the stern set of his mouth, the way his jaw was clamped a little too tightly. Sadistically, inexplicably, she was glad that he was suffering, too.

Relieved – and also peculiarly disappointed – at his lack of ire, she turned back to her reading, content to let the awkward moment slide. Rationally, she knew she would have to deal with it eventually, but she'd always been a procrastinator.

Scorpius, however, was not.

After hanging up his jacket, he sat down next to her and said, in a carefully modulated tone, "Rose, we need to talk."

_So close. _Rose sighed and was about to apologize for the way she ended their kiss when he startled her by saying, "It was a mistake."

She inhaled sharply. "A mistake. So you're not upset that I..."

He shook his head, his platinum hair falling into his eyes. Her fingers itched with the desire to push it back, but she remained steadfast. "We were both tired, and it was …it was a mistake, that's all. Can we move past it, please?"

Rose looked at him – really looked at him – for the first time in a long while. She observed the unnatural lack of luster in his usually bright eyes, noted the dark hollows under his lashes carved out by insomnia. Something was wrong, something was off. Scorpius was a ghost of his former self, a disjointed shadow of suppressed longings and forced willings.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, allowing herself to demurely touch his hand.

Even that chaste touch was too much for him. Tension infused his frame before he snatched his hand away, frustration bubbling in his chest. "I'm fine," he rasped, looking anywhere but her face. "Let's just…try, okay?"

"To be friends?" she asked, cynicism coloring her voice.

He gave her a curt nod. "Yes…friends."

At her virtually inaudible, "Okay," he looked up and finally met her gaze.

Ice met fire.

They could do friends, couldn't they?

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed - every single time I see the notification "New Review", I literally squeal, no lie. I'm relatively new to HP fanfiction (I know, _I know, _but better late than never, right?) and this is actually my first multi-chap HP fic (I do have a Scorose one-shot that's up so if you like this, go check that out!) so _any _and _all _feedback is appreciated. It's hard to grow as a writer without comments and criticism - you guys probably all know that. So please please please, feed the crazy HP fan inside me and leave me a review; I will love you forever!

BTW sorry this chapter wasn't as exciting as the last, but it's plot-driven and therefore, unfortunately, necessary. Don't worry, upcoming chapters are so fluffy you'll vomit :D.

Kisses,

- CandiFloss


	6. Chapter 6

**~.~**

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**~.~**

Chapter VI:_ Alone  
_

Sensing glacial air tickling the back of his throat, Scorpius swallowed heavily and muttered a quick warming spell, cursing the never-ending winter that seemed to envelop the castle. Snow crunched under his feet as he trudged to the Herbology greenhouses, his fingers reddening with cold. Class had been cancelled that day, due to inclement weather, but Scorpius had a Mandrake tracking term paper and he wasn't about to allow a little ice yield irregular increments.

Even while his hissed oath resonated in the biting wind, Scorpius seemed to, almost absently, absorb his surroundings in a way that was beyond his capacity last week; where he had once seen only drying, dying things, he now saw the beauty that had previously escaped him. The pallor of the glittering snow underneath the dim golden glow of the moon, the dewy blades of glass glistening with tear-like pearls of frost, the delicate snowflakes that caressed his cheeks as they floated down from the murky heavens.

A shadow of a smile twitched at his lips. Maybe this subconscious uplifting of his mood signified the validity of his decision; maybe it was a way of showing him that his choice to abandon the musings of his unruly heart and instead embrace his destiny was a good one.

He hoped it was, anyway, because while his ever-rational brain stood by his cold decision, his heart seemed to feel differently. He'd even written the St. Mungo's essay, despite knowing that he would never send it, the last hurrah for the desires of his reckless heart. Not to mention, he felt a pang in his chest – a physical, literal, burning ache – every time he looked at Rose, acutely aware that the likes of Heather Parkinson could never hold a candle to her natural wit, her sparkling eyes, her fiery nature. But they'd been doomed from the start, hadn't they? Even before Scorpius had realized his muddled feelings for her, their fate had been written in the iron-clad manuscript of their past.

Speak of the devil.

Scorpius halted as if slapped, his hand frozen to the sleet-sheened handle of the greenhouse. Through the frosted glass walls of the storage area, he could just barely make out a female silhouette melting into the shade. The figure would not have been recognizable, had she not possessed an unmistakable halo of crimson locks spilling down her back.

Of course it was her. The one girl who could send him into spirals of torment without raising a finger would obviously be the only other person in their class with the foresight to make sure her grades didn't suffer because of the cold.

No one could accuse him of having bad taste in women, at least.

Petrified in his position, Scorpius watched the shadow come to life as his eyes adjusted to the low light filtering through the fields. It had rained earlier, the typical lashings that accompanied large amounts of snow. She had evidently been completely soaked, her wet tangles of hair curling damply down her back and her soggy jeans caked with mud.

But she didn't appear to notice. She appeared to be waiting for the results of her tracking to materialize on parchment, and was, in the meantime, sitting back on a jagged edge of rock in the corner of the conservatory, her face tipped up to meet the verdant emerald leaves that topped her Mandrake pot. It was hard to tell amidst the shadows that embraced her, but he thought there was a smile dancing on her lips.

She was a wood sprite, an elf, a nymph.

She was beautiful.

_No. _Scorpius sucked in a tight breath, numbing the forbidden thoughts that had once again stolen into the alcoves of his mind. A fantasy, that's all she was. A dream that dissipated under the harsh light of the morning. Like catching smoke, she would always be a breath away from his clawing grasp.

It was futile to try and pursue her, as his recently wild heart was urging him to do. It was equally pointless to attempt to avoid her, as his cold, logical mind advised him to do.

He decided to settle on the obvious compromise; he'd follow through with his plan to befriend her, smothering any deeper emotion he may have felt - or may still feel - in favor of the bland companionship he'd promised her. With time, he'd feel as much emotion when he looked at her as he would when looking at a door.

Besides, they were friends now, weren't they?

Recklessly, he pushed the door open.

Rose looked up at the noise, startled, but her features softened for a moment when she saw who it was.

"Hey!" she said, brightly. Maybe a little too brightly. "Mandrake term project?"

He forced a smile. "Same as you, I guess." Shuffling over to his pot, he began the tedious process of soil filtration.

Rose stood up, brushing loose sediment from her lap, and made her way over to him. "Need a hand?"

"Sure," he replied. That seemed like something a friend would do, right? Lend a hand? "Could you record the ion content? I'll set up the filter."

She nodded eagerly. "No problem. I've got another half hour to kill, anyway."

Wordlessly, they set about their tasks, until Rose broke the silence with a giggle. "This reminds me of our first time with Mandrakes. Remember? Second year?"

Scorpius scowled as he met her gaze. "Weasley, I really hope you're not talking about…"

Dramatically, Rose lifted the back of her hand to her forehead and said, in a deep voice meant to emulate his, "Professor Sprout, I don't feel too….too…"

"_My earmuffs were loose!"_ he growled, trying to stifle the amusement in his voice. "That was not my fault!"

Rose smirked. "I'm sure no one doubted your masculinity after your _swoon_, Malfoy…"

"First of all, I didn't even faint, it was just a little dizziness. Second…" he broke off, the corners of his lips twitching, at the sight of Rose doubled over in laughter.

Without him realizing it, his forced smile had morphed into a real one.

* * *

Rose stared glumly at the patrol list in her hand, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

_Andrea Vance and Lester Macmillan. _

_ Emily Nott and Alexander Wilson. _

_ Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy. _

So far, she'd avoided having to patrol with him, even though they were technically required to partner together; she'd make an excuse about her schedule, or how it was important to mingle with the underclassmen.

But it was October and she couldn't skirt around him any longer.

Besides, they were friends now, weren't they? They'd been comfortable together yesterday when they ran into each other at the greenhouses. They'd been amiable when they met each other in the hallways or in their common room. They'd smiled and exchanged pleasantries when forced together in classrooms.

Exhaling slowly, Rose got up and stretched. It wouldn't do any good to pretend this patrol wouldn't happen. And ostensibly, she had no rational reason to wish it wouldn't.

Except for one tiny, niggling detail...

She couldn't be friends with Scorpius.

Not when her knees turned to jelly when he looked at her, not when her voice shuddered when he spoke to her, not when her skin prickled with goosebumps when he touched her.

Rose frowned, unwilling to let the unwanted feelings bubble up in her again. But they were there, and there was no denying them. All she could do was do her very best to stifle them, plastering on a mask of indifference and training herself to maintain a friendly – friendly, and nothing more – relationship with him.

She slapped the offending parchment on her desk and pulled on her robes, resigning herself to another night of torment with the one person in the world who could make her lose her ever-present rationality. Pulling her curls into a ponytail and grabbing scattered papers, she started out of the room, but paused briefly in front of a mirror, critically pursing her lips. A pale face dusted with freckles, a veritable rat nest perched on her head, and eyes that seemed to take up half her face met her gaze.

Disdainfully, she tore her eyes away from her reflection, a knot in her throat. No wonder Scorpius couldn't feel anything for her. Who could?

Rose swallowed and left her room, feeling altogether out-of-sorts. An Arithmancy test, a Potions essay, a spells assessment in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and, of course, her patrol with Scorpius. What wasn't there to love about today?

In the Great Hall, she took her usual seat next to Lizzy, feeling pale and washed out in the face of her friend's exuberance.

Lizzy, always quick on the uptake, didn't let her mood escape her keen eye. Knowingly, she raised her eyebrows. "Boy problems?"

Rose smiled. "You know me too well, Liz." And, to avoid further discussion, started chugging pumpkin juice like her life depended on it.

Across the table, her cousin, Dominique – an infuriatingly beautiful girl of Veela descent who never failed to make Rose itch with jealousy – flipped her mane of platinum blonde hair, her ears perking up at the mention of _boys. _

"Did someone say boy problems?" Dominique drawled casually, her green cat-eyes narrowing with interest. "Rose, _you _have boy problems?"

Rose stiffened, determined not to let her cousin's snipes faze her. Twisting her mouth into a half-smile-half-grimace hybrid, she said, "It's nothing. Just…I have patrol with Scorpius tonight and…"

"Ooh, yes, let's talk about Scorpius!" Dominique squealed, cutting her off. "Damn, he's gorgeous…I wouldn't mind _patrolling _with him myself, if you know what I mean!"

The knot in Rose's throat wound itself a little tighter. She gritted her teeth underneath her phony grin and ignored the jealousy tickling her mind.

At that precise moment, a flurry of feathers swooped into the room. Owls, performing the routine mail drop-off.

_Thank goodness, _Rose thought. She wasn't sure how much more "boy talk" she could take. Eagerly, she tore open the paper her family's ancient owl had dropped into her lap.

She was looking forward to the Prophet's headlines continuing the riveting saga of Celestina Warbeck's return to fame.

Instead, what she read there made her blood freeze.

Eyes widened with shock, she looked wildly about the Hall for Scorpius, her heart drumming relentlessly in her ears. She finally located him down the Ravenclaw table, and her chest clenched when she saw that he'd read the same news she had. His face betrayed no sentiment, but the tight line of his lips and the pallor of his skin revealed to her the turmoil he felt. His friend, Mason Zabini, attempted to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Scorpius shrugged it off. His face was a marble mask, angular features and hard eyes.

He swallowed heavily, casting his eyes back down at the paper he was holding with slightly trembling hands. After a brief rereading, something seemed to snap inside him. As Rose bit her lip and watched him anxiously, Scorpius abruptly stood, his plate clattering on the table, and stormed out of the Great Hall, his quicksilver eyes flashing. Every eye in the room followed his figure out the door with bated breath.

An ominous shiver flew down her spine. With a sinking heart, she turned back to the paper, eyeing the headline gingerly.

_Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater and eternal disciple of the Dark Lord, found dead after 25 years in Azkaban. _

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**A/N:** Hope you enjoyed that! The plot thickens *hehe* :D.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beautiful reviewers. Mwah! I love you all. But...(ugh, I hate to be this author)...I really wish there were more of you! The reviews that I get are amazing and lovely but there are very few, which makes me really sad! And I know it's not because you're not enjoying the story, because I get lots of people who favorite or follow this without leaving a review. Guys...please...you have no idea what your reviews mean to me. I appreciate every single one of them; they give me motivation to keep writing.

SO, to address this, I've decided to set a review goal, something which seems to work very well for other authors. If I get twenty reviews for this chapter (bringing the total review count up to 32), the next update will be much faster than this one was! I'm not going to threaten you and say I'll abandon the story if I don't get the reviews, but I'll definitely have more of an incentive to get the chapter out!

Thank you for being so lovely and supporting; you're the reason I write!

- CandiFloss


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Ahh! My review goal was met! *Does happy dance*. Consider this a New Year's present, my beautiful readers, because I was so excited to see that it had been reached that I sat down and wrote this, just for you. Happy 2014!

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**~.~**

**THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**~.~**

Chapter VII:_ Burn  
_

It was ten.

Patrols started at nine forty-five and it was ten.

Rose glanced anxiously at the clock ticking incessantly, relentlessly, infuriatingly slowly on the mantle, chewing the inside of her cheek. Was he going to show up? What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Was he angry? Was he sad?

Was he okay?

Groaning with frustration, she collapsed on the sofa in the common room, burying her face in a pillow.

She hated the fact that she cared.

Or maybe she hated the fact that she hated the fact that she cared.

Seconds melted into minutes, and minutes passed by painfully slowly. Rose dragged a hand through her messy curls, wondering whether she should go search for him. Perhaps he'd forgotten about the patrols.

But what would she even say if she found him? _Hey, I know you're grieving over the loss of your estranged grandfather, but would you mind patrolling the hallways with me to catch infatuated teenagers in the middle of frenzied make-out sessions and send them to bed with severe warnings? _

Damn. Life sucked. His and hers both.

Just as she was about to give up and patrol solo tonight, she heard his characteristic, thudding footsteps outside their door and her shoulders sagged in relief. So he hadn't forgotten, after all.

Forcing her facial muscles into a distorted smile – after deciding hesitantly that a smile was probably the most appropriate expression to adopt in this situation – she sprang up with as much energy as she could muster to greet him. He'd clearly been out on the Quidditch pitch again – his robes were caked with mud, dirt highlighted the planes of his cheeks, his hair was mussed by wind – but, thankfully, there was no blood in sight this time.

She started to speak, to give him the sympathy speech she'd been mentally rehearsing for the past hour, when, for the first time in weeks, he looked at her. Right at her. No shuffling about, no avoidance. His grey eyes glittered coldly into her amber ones and her words withered on her lips.

Rose was about to talk, she really was. She was about to offer her condolences and then briskly bring up patrols. She was about to be professional and friendly and exactly what he needed right now.

Her mouth just seemed to disagree, stubborn thing that it was. Upon being subject anew to his withering gaze, her insides began to churn and her eloquent speech crumbled on her tongue. Despite her best attempts, she couldn't seem to do any better than inaudibly gape at him, and she hated herself for it. She, better than anyone, knew that he'd had enough gaping for one day.

He met her gaze coolly for a few seconds, seeming to wait for her to say something. When he realized that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, he stated, in a level tone that held no tremor, through hooded eyes that betrayed no sentiment, "I haven't forgotten about patrols. I'll be right back, just let me clean up."

Rose could barely manage a squeak of concession before he'd stalked out of the room, almost regally. If she hadn't known any better, she'd say his behavior hadn't changed an iota. Still just as cold. Still just as unfeeling.

But she did know better.

She'd caught the clenching of his fists just before he spoke, the hard glint in his eyes as he turned his back on her, the harsh twist of his mouth as he strode out.

He was in pain.

And there was nothing she could do to help him.

For some inexplicable reason, that thought caused her heart to clench agonizingly in her chest. Rose slumped back down onto the cushions, her eyes squeezed together to stifle the tears that hovered precariously on her lashes.

Life really did suck.

She'd begun pondering the merits of offing herself with the loose thread that dangled from her sweater to avoid actually communicating with Scorpius when he re-appeared, clearly just finished with his shower. Damp beads of moisture clung to the shadows of his features, and his dewy hair leaked droplets onto his crisp white shirt.

"Ready, Weasley?" he muttered, grabbing his wand and tucking it into the folds of his robes.

He clearly wasn't ready to talk about what happened. Or maybe he was and just didn't want to. Whatever the reason, the worst possible thing to do right now was bring up his grandfather, that much was obvious. She could spout any meaningless nothing that sprung into her mind, but she'd be safe as long as she didn't even mention what happened to his family….

Of course, Rose being her idiotic self, she took one look at his rumpled visage and was unable to resist the painful twinges in her chest any longer. "I'm sorry about your grandfather," she blurted clumsily, wishing the words back as soon as they tumbled past her lips. _Stupid, stupid, stupid …. _

Scorpius froze, his features molded into a glower. "Shut up, Weasley." His voice was gravelly, edged with steel. A warning.

And still, her stupid, disobedient mouth continued. "I know you don't want to talk about it, so I'll stop talking, but I just wanted you to know that …" her voice was wavering; perhaps it was finally listening to the furious commands of her brain to _stop talking_. Wait, no, of course not – "that I'm here for you. You know, as a …" Rose stopped and cleared her throat sheepishly, wishing she'd never said anything to begin with, "as a friend."

He looked away, closing his eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Let's just get this damn patrol over with, yeah?" Deliberately, he swiveled and strode towards the door, without sparing her a backwards glance.

Rose cursed herself for her idiocy, seriously contemplating digging through the floor with the edge of her wand as a plausible escape route. The frigid glint in his eyes was imprinted in her mind.

How was it possible that the daughter of Hermione Granger was so … so stupid? Really, it was a wonder anyone thought her brainy, as a Pygmy Puff so clearly outranked her in terms of communication and social skills.

Whispering a barely audible sorry, she followed him quietly out the door, vowing to keep silent and wrap up the patrol early.

They walked wordlessly together for twenty minutes, his long strides leaving her flustered and impatient to keep up with him. Besides the occasional teacher, there was no one in the hallway, leaving their lonely footsteps to echo eerily in the empty passages. Fluttering spurts of lights from overhead lamps threw scattered luminance around the otherwise ink-black halls.

The tension hanging in the air was palpable. Rose could feel it, she could taste it. She felt like even her shaky breathing was disturbing the fragile equilibrium of the atmosphere. Beside her, Scorpius was rigid. His jaw was set firmly, his lips were pursed in a straight line. The slightest twist of his lips marred his aristocratic features, exposing his inner agony.

It burned her, but she kept quiet. It scorched her, but she kept quiet. Because whatever nonsense fell out of her mouth would only scar him more. Would only hurt him more.

And she couldn't hurt him more.

She wouldn't.

A scuffle from a nearby cupboard broke the heavy silence.

Startled, Rose stopped in her tracks. Her surprise quickly turned into amusement as she realized that, once again, some foolish couple had decided that a broom closet after-hours was the perfect place for a hook-up.

Throwing a quick glance back at Scorpius, who'd also visibly relaxed since hearing the noise, she yanked open the door. She was greeted with the expected fervent snogging and, with a grin dancing on her lips, was about to sternly send the kids off to their separate beds when something stopped her.

Jet-black hair and thick golden locks. Jade-green eyes and wide blue orbs.

Albus and Elizabeth.

Rose almost choked on her own spit. "Albus?" she managed in a strangled tone. _"Lizzy?" _

Shocked, the pair untwined their tangled limbs and stared at Rose with hangdog, disbelieving expressions.

"Um … hey," Albus finally sputtered, his glasses guiltily hanging crooked on the bridge of his nose.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes at him in disappointment. "Really? She catches us like this and all you can manage is _hey_?" Puffing with exasperation, she pulled up the lowered sleeve of her top and said, with her famous poker face, "Rose, we were going to tell you. Really. But you seemed to be going through your own stuff, and we were just … well, we're not that serious …"

"_Not that serious?" _Albus blustered. "Well, that's a fine way of letting a bloke know …"

"Oh, shut _up, _Albus!" Lizzy said. "Seriously, it was your brilliant plan to sneak into a broom closet – that turned out great – and now you're a martyr?"

"Guys!" Rose, recovering from her stunned silence, suddenly found her tongue. "Don't worry about it, really. I mean … yeah, it's a surprise. But … bloody hell, Al, it's about time you found a decent girl!"

Lizzy burst into delighted giggles. Stumbling gracelessly out of the cupboard, she wrapped her friend in a tight hug. "I knew you'd be fine, Rosie."

"Hey, not _fine_," Rose amended hastily, pulling herself out of Elizabeth's death grip. "But it's really not my business and I can't bother to keep track of Al's line of bimbos, anyway."

Lizzy raised her eyebrows blithely. "I'm not sure I like what you're implying, Rose, _but _since I owe you for keeping this a secret, I'm going to let it go."

"Seriously, Liz," Rose said, glaring pointedly at her friend and adopting a sterner tone. "In case you forgot, you just got caught after-hours in a _compromising situation_ by the Head Girl. If you don't want to lose any House Points, I suggest you get back to your bedrooms. Your _separate _bedrooms."

Still chortling, Elizabeth pulled a petrified Albus from the depths of the closet and sauntered off jauntily, her hair swinging in tune behind her.

Rose watched their figures receding into the shadows, her befuddled demi-grin frozen on her face. Blinking fast, she shrugged off her initial shock. Albus and Lizzy ... oh, what the hell. Maybe the full impact of their relationship would hit her later, but for now, she couldn't bring herself to be very upset. In fact, she was rather entertained by the whole escapade.

Absently, she half-realized that Scorpius was still beside her, quietly absorbing the fiasco before them. Almost guiltily, she snuck a look at his face and noticed, with a certain measure of surprise, that the corners of his mouth were quirked upwards in a soft half-smile. The ghost of his characteristic smirk spread an intense, almost frightening warmth through her, and she was disturbed at how deeply his emotions affected her.

Purposefully ignoring this unfortunate revelation, she instead chose to be gratified that her friends' exploits had at least led to some good - they'd evoked _some, _if not much, emotion from Scorpius - and began walking forward, expecting him to follow her lead. She didn't notice that his heavy footsteps were conspicuously missing from the silence of the night.

So she skidded to a stop, alarmed, when an unexpected voice snaked through the darkness, piercing the shadows that wrapped around her. Smooth as marble. Cold as granite.

His voice.

"I didn't know him."

Dumbfounded, she whirled around and saw him lingering in the doorframe of the closet Albus and Elizabeth had hurriedly vacated, his hard, marble eyes roving her features piercingly.

Rose was speechless, a small part of her feeling like her capacity for coherent language was permanently impaired when she was around him. All she could bring herself to do was nod moronically. And watch, with wide eyes, as he drew an unsteady breath and continued, "I didn't know him. My grandfather. Lucius. I met him …twice. Both times in Azkaban." A humorless laugh slid past his lips. "Once was on my twelfth birthday. Some present, huh?"

She bit her lip and dared to draw closer to him, unconsciously willing him to go on, unconsciously wanting to help him, to ease his pain. "It was the summer before second year. He'd … my father had just told him I'd been sorted into Ravenclaw. He … he was furious. I remember him yelling, cursing. He called me … a disgrace to my name. To the Malfoy name. He said that I was no grandson of his and that, even if I had been a Slytherin, that he would never accept me or my … my blood-traitor family. My family, not his."

Scorpius leaned heavily on the doorframe, clenching his jaw roughly. "That was the last time we visited. But I never stopped thinking about it. He was my grandfather, and he didn't accept me. Here, people don't accept me because of him. My whole life I've tried to be different from him, and still, when people look at me, they see him. I know they do. I see it in their eyes, in the way they curl their lips when they see me. No matter what I do, I'll always be … a Malfoy. A Death Eater." His breathing was ragged, and his throat bobbed in cadence to his quavering tone.

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered, hardly daring to breathe. "I'm so sorry, Scorpius." She almost placed a hand on his shoulder, but, thinking better of it, diverted it and gripped the wood of the wall instead.

He'd broken eye contact with her, raking a trembling hand through his hair and fixing his gaze straight ahead. "And now he's dead, and I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. My father's mourning. My mother's mourning. And I feel … nothing. Am I a terrible person? Can anyone hear of their grandfather's death and feel nothing? Can anyone hear of their grandfather's death and be almost … relieved?"

_Screw it, _Rose thought, and laid her hand firmly on his shoulder. Let him hate her if he wanted.

At the contact, Scorpius snapped his head up and stared hard at the girl in front of him with the fiery hair and innocent eyes, like he wasn't sure she was there at all. Hoarsely, he murmured, looking wonderingly into her face, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I haven't told anyone. Rose" – she flinched with surprise as she realized he called her by her first name – "what are you doing to me?"

Rose swallowed, feeling the familiar twinge in her chest as his dark gaze collided with her own. Boldly, she moved her hand up to the nape of his neck, feeling the dampness of his washed hair slick under her fingers. Her heartbeat was pounding, vibrating everywhere in her body. Every breath she drew suddenly felt cacophonously loud.

"You're not a bad person," she breathed, inclining her body almost imperceptibly towards his. "You're not, Scorpius."

They were so close. So perilously close. She could feel his warm breath on her face, the uneven drumming of his heart, his sharp inhalation when her fingers curled around the curve of his neck.

This was dangerous.

She tilted her head, locking her eyes with his, his unchanging, resolute eyes.

That, for some strange reason, weren't unchanging at all at this moment. That were, in fact, flashing an almost molten silver, communicating a desire that she, until this very moment, had thought he didn't reciprocate.

He said her name in a cracked, broken voice. One that touched the innermost depths of her being, one that liquefied her resolve into a puddle, one that shook her senses into a fervor. "Rose."

She let out a nervous laugh, knowing that this situation could spiral terribly, terribly out of control if she let it. Knowing she should to something – anything – to stop him, to stop them, to stop what was indubitably about to happen….

He drew closer to her, and she melted. "Scorpius, I –"

He cut her off, pushing her against the wall almost roughly and placing his hands on her waist. His face was just a breath away from hers. "Rose, you need to tell me to stop."

She stared unblinkingly into his face, his features that were contorted in torment; she felt her heart stutter when his hands settled snugly at her waist, sending blistering singes throughout her entire body. She sensed her mind clouding, her rationality slipping, her logic fading as she fell, deeper and deeper, into the liquid luster of his eyes.

She said nothing.

He groaned, a raw wrenching from the depths of his throat, and rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving to match hers, ragged breath for ragged breath. "Tell me to _stop_, Rose. This … this can't happen. You _know _it can't happen. _Tell me to stop._"

Rose suddenly found her mouth very dry. Without her realizing it, her hands had tangled themselves in his hair and her body was pressed against his intimately, securely, as though they fit. As though they were meant to fit.

She couldn't breathe, a gasp was lodged in her lungs. She was suffocating, she was drowning, she was burning, she was lost and she was found.

She said nothing.

Scorpius swallowed heavily and closed his eyes. Even as he willed himself to step back, to collect his thoughts, the hand that had settled on the hook of her waist brushed intuitively against the coarse material of her sweater that hid the swelling of her chest. His leg unconsciously nudged her thighs apart, causing her to gasp sharply and arch her hips against him instinctively, agonizingly. She was torturing him and she didn't even know it; she didn't understand, she was blissfully ignorant of the terrible power she wielded over him...

And he couldn't exploit that innocence, that purity that shone in her warm brown eyes, in her inviting smile. He couldn't hurt her.

He wouldn't.

Almost pleadingly, he looked into her dark eyes one more time, become undone in their auroral gleam. "Please," he begged again, his voice a strangled cry. "Rose...please tell me to stop."

Rose dragged in a shallow breath, trying to focus her thoughts. She shifted in his clasp, and felt him stiffen in response underneath her hands. Tension infused his long frame, rendering his shoulders rigid and his face ethereally pale; as she looked up, she saw his eyes slit to bright silver shards that smoldered in the shadows. Strange emotions, foreign sentiments, roiled in their depths.

And she knew, she finally knew, that she was gone. She was lost. She was his and she had surrendered.

She wanted this, needed this, craved this.

She had for years.

Wrenching her eyes away from his heated expression, she pressed herself impossibly closer to him, feeling the warmth that radiated from him infuse her being, filling her with a new and tantalizing fire. She raised her head to his and, grazing her lips against the tender flesh of his lobe, murmured, "Don't stop."

And his will snapped.

Recklessly, deliriously, he snatched her lips in a desperate kiss, unable to hold back, unable to maintain his characteristic control. Both of them were, at last, ready to drown. One of his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her in closer, while the other dragged down her neck, her shoulders, her ribs, possessively, protectively, greedily.

Rose felt her eyes flutter shut, and she released a shaky moan against his mouth. He felt it vibrate in the back of his throat and groaned harshly in response to her gasp, pressing her harder against the wall, his movements almost frantic with need.

Her hands slid down his back fluidly, evoking a shiver down his spine. He tore his mouth away from hers raggedly, planting feathery kisses down the column of her throat. Her pulse thrummed irregularly under his lips, her nails raked down his neck, catching the sensitive skin of his spine. He pushed her hair – her thick, bewitching, ridiculous fountain of curls – to one shoulder, relishing the bare expanse of skin revealed.

Somehow, however, his hand caught on the handle of a broom next to them, and it fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

The resounding crash brought them both back to their senses.

Aghast, Rose pulled away from the warmth of his chest, a chill washing through her as she did so. Her wide, panicked eyes were desperately seeking for and finding no promises in his grey ones. For one brief stutter in time, they stared at each other, the knowledge of what they had done and what they could never change burned into their minds.

Scorpius sucked in a cold gulp of air, futilely attempting to clear his foggy mind. His voice low in his throat, he growled grimly, "Damn it, Weasley, you should have told me to stop."

He ripped his eyes away from hers, almost reluctantly, and stepped back, putting distance between her trembling body and his. "Why the _fuck _didn't you tell me to stop?"

A heartbeat passed as a hush laden with unspoken pledges seeped into the air. Finally, he turned, embittered and disheartened, the effort of regaining control causing his nails to bite into his palms. He moved swiftly, brutally, ready to leave and put this behind him, put her behind him...

Rose felt a jolt strike her chest and reverberate to the base of her spine as she realized he was planning on abandoning her.

Again.

Instinctively, she blocked his path, her eyes snapping in anger. "Stop."

He snorted hollowly. "A little late for that, isn't it, Weasley?"

Rose shook her head, frustrated. A clot settled in her throat and, humiliatingly, she seemed once again on the brink of a breakdown. "No," she uttered woodenly, looking at him with eyes misty with unshed tears. "Stop _this_. Stop this … this cycle. Stop making me think you care and then walking away. Stop –" she swallowed, and looked away, "stop hurting me."

Scorpius felt like he was burning. Or drowning. Maybe both. "Rose," he muttered, hating the ease with which her name spilled out of his mouth. Or loving it. Maybe both. He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his raw gaze.

She blew out a gentle sigh and cast her lashes down. "You're doing it again," she whispered softly.

He groaned hoarsely, letting his hand slide down from her chin to her side. "I can't … we can't … Rose, you know we can't."

"Why?" she pleaded earnestly, brokenly, hysterically. "_Why _can't we? It's been a year, Scorpius, since … since the first time we kissed. Ever since then, we've been denying ourselves, saying we can't. Can't we … or won't we?"

The memories of that kiss still consumed him. Long after the black of the night had melted into the burnished gold of day, he would lie awake in his bed, dreaming, remembering, wishing.

"We're from two different worlds," he answered, hating that he'd caused the tears glistening in her eyes, hating that he was the reason for the mortified flush blossoming on her cheeks. Even as he explained the reasons they couldn't, his hand, seemingly of its own volition, moved to grip her waist possessively. He snatched it back before she noticed, but the phantom feel of her still fizzed through his body. Strangely, he felt his energy sapping in his attempt to refrain from touching her. "You have your family. Your father, would he ever accept me? And mine …" Again, the same empty chuckle. "My father wants me to take over his business. He wants me to marry Heather Parkinson. He wants me to be everything he couldn't be." He looked directly into her eyes, his chest constricting painfully as he spoke his next words, "And I've promised him I will be."

Rose felt frozen, the vague thought that she should respond a distant whisper in her head. Inside the crevices of her mind, her thoughts were in chaos, tumbling and tripping over each other, all of them overwhelmed by the raw tenderness of her lips and the sting of his rejection.

Dimly, absently, she noticed a peculiar expression steal over Scorpius's features; was that regret? No, it couldn't be.

Surely a creature so obviously cold and impervious to emotion would be incapable of regret.

Angrily, she brushed away the unruly tear that dared to slip from beneath her lashes and commanded her eyes to stop watering. Meeting his gaze, despising his incensed stare, she squared her shoulders and attempted to calm the irate quakes bubbling within her chest. "So," she hissed, loathing the quaver that crept into her voice unbidden. "It's clear, then, where we stand."

Attempting to collect the remaining fragmented shreds of her dignity, she stepped out of the cupboard, keeping her back straight, her shoulders stiff. Once out of his line of vision, she rushed, ran, really, back to the common room, her legs quivering and her body shaking. After muttering a quick silencing spell – she couldn't have him sadistically relishing her heartbreak – she let out the sobs that stifled her chest, hoping, in vain, that doing so would somehow relieve the ache, the physical pang, that seared through her heart.

He'd tricked her, deceived her. He'd ensnared her knowingly, drawing her to a false sense of promise, coercing her to her humiliating confession, convincing her to bare her soul for him.

And then he'd crushed her. Spat on her, mocked her, derided her. Laughed in the face of her pain.

She curled into the blanket, drawing its silky emptiness around her in false comfort. He'd cheated her and used her.

And worst of all, she'd let him.

She didn't tell him to stop.

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**A/N: **So, here's a present for you lovely, wonderful people! Finally, a little Scorose action, right? (Don't lie...you were all thinking it :P) Let's just hope these two crazy kids come to their senses sometime soon ...

Like I said above, I'm BEYOND ECSTATIC that my far-fetched review goal was ACTUALLY MET. LIKE, HOLY SHIT PEOPLE. I GOT MORE REVIEWS FOR CHAPTER SIX THAN I DID FOR THE REST OF THE STORY!

I have now learned never to doubt the fierce power of rapid HP fans. Remind me never to get on your bad side. And also remind me to THANK YOU AGAIN BECAUSE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU.

Review like that for EVERY chapter please! It makes me unreasonably happy - as you can see :P. Ooh, also, to my guest reviewers, of whom I have a lot: since I can't thank you personally, let me say here how extremely appreciative I am of you. It means the world to me that you took the time to review my little story.

Okay so before this author's note turns into a novel, I'm going to go to bed. It's 4 am. I wrote this in the wee hours of the morning just for you lovely people. Happy New Year!

I need sleep :D.

- CandiFloss


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